August 8, 2015

All Quiet on the Mountain

More than halfway through the year, and I hadn't climbed Mt. Hamilton ... unthinkable. Today was the day to fix that.

Three deer running in a field at Joseph Grant Ranch County Park, San Jose, California
The temperature was perfect, and for some reason there was little traffic; motorcycles, mostly.

Layer of gray smoke hangs over the valley, view from summit of Mt. Hamilton, San Jose, California
Along with little traffic, there was little breeze and little view. There is likely a relationship among those three elements. The sky was layered with smoke from distant wildfires.

I paused to watch some deer munching on the still-green leaves of a large branch that had snapped off an oak tree. Flora and fauna, stressed by the drought.

Three deer dining on oak leaves alongside Mt. Hamilton Road, San Jose, California
There were, of course, other cyclists. I chatted with a couple of first timers, and passed an over-dressed guy who was struggling. He hadn't gotten much farther when I passed him again on the way down, despite the additional time I'd taken for lunch at the top.

I'd heard they'd done some work on the upper section of the road; notably, they re-graded a gnarly switchback near the top, making the steep inside curve more gentle. On one trip up the mountain, I had witnessed a motorcyclist stall and tip over on that curve. With its wheels uphill and weighty body downhill, he needed help to stand the bike back up.

I was surprised (and mystified) to see Cipollini's name freshly stenciled on the road in multiple spots, as he retired some time ago. And he's not exactly local.

For the day, the usual 39 miles and 4,860 feet of climbing. My favorite.

August 3, 2015

Lake Shasta Caverns

We're heading back to the Bay Area today, but that doesn't mean we can't find some more fun.

View of Lake Shasta from the hillside above, near entrance to Lake Shasta Caverns, California
My ride buddy had done her research and found an attraction that wouldn't have been on my radar screen: Lake Shasta Caverns. It's even a National Natural Landmark, like Burney Falls (which we visited last year) and Mt. Shasta itself.

Our timing couldn't have been better. We arrived early, but missed the first tour of the day (a busload of tourists). For our small group, it felt like a private tour.

Catamaran waiting to ferry us across Lake Shasta to the caverns, California
We hiked down to the water's edge to catch a boat across Lake Shasta, which is fed in part by a river we visited two days ago. With the drought, the water level is down by some 150 feet. Over such a huge surface area, that's a lot of missing water.

On the other side, a small bus carried us up to the door where we would enter the cavern. Our guide filled us in on some history and interesting facts along the way. She claimed that poison oak will mimic the plants around it, which is something I'd not heard before (and, have not been able to substantiate). She also told us about treating the rash with Manzanita, which has indeed been recommended elsewhere. My strategy is to avoid the devilish vines in the first place, but I'm filing that remedy away in the “good-to-know” category.

California Sister butterfly near Lake Shasta Caverns, Lake Shasta, California
Along the way, a friendly California Sister (Adelpha californica) posed nicely on the fence rail.

I haven't visited many caves; my family just wasn't into that. The caverns were unexpectedly fascinating, with a great variety of formations—not just the stalactites and stalagmites you'd expect. Flowstone, for example. The floor could be pretty slippery; there were handrails, but shoes with stickier soles would have been better than my hiking boots.

Stalactites, Lake Shasta Caverns, Lake Shasta, California
Most of the formations are “alive” (still growing). Our guide's flashlight illuminated the difference. Only the living formations had a translucent glow. We were cautioned not to touch, as the oils from our hands disrupt the chemistry and “kill” future growth. One room was an exception to this rule, including a formation that invited us to crawl inside.

pep inside a formation in the Lake Shasta Caverns, Lake Shasta, California
A natural entrance to the cave was high above us in the last “room,” which was enormous. Bats swooped overhead as we stood there, admiring the spectacle.

I'm a curious sort of person, but I have to admit that, had I stumbled across the entrance to these caverns I would not have ventured inside. Especially with the primitive tools and lighting available in 1878. Thank you, Mr. Richardson.

August 2, 2015

A Social Century

The Mount Shasta Summit Century is the reason my biking buddy and I drove up to Siskiyou County. “Summit” is a bit of a misnomer; the ride ends, along with the paved road, at an altitude of 7,780 feet. There's quite a bit of mountain above that point, as the peak tops out at 14,179 feet.

The ride is put on by the local chamber of commerce, so we were surprised to see no hint of the event as we walked around town. No flyers. No posters. No signs. When we hiked at Castle Lake, we saw a notice that the parking lot would be closed on Sunday [rest stop], so we felt reassured that they hadn't called it off and forgotten to let us know.

We had registered for the full century, but as we did last year with the Fall River Century, we concocted our own route. We're the Goldilocks of cycling: 100 miles with 10,500 feet of climbing is too big, and 59 miles with 4,000 feet of climbing is too small. And of course we wanted to bike up Mt. Shasta. Shorten a loop here, skip a climb there, and go up the mountain. Just right.

Imagine our surprise when the first cyclists we met en route were a couple from our own bike club, on their tandem.

This event was the most social century of any bike event I've ridden. Normally, the hard core cyclists zip past without a word, intent on making good time. Not today. I had so many nice conversations with cyclists who slowed to chat. I called out to a couple of guys wearing a jersey from my home state—that's something I've never seen before, as it's hardly a nexus of cycling. One lives in California now, and his brother flew out to do this ride and spend a couple of weeks touring the Pacific Northwest.

There were also more women riding than I have ever seen at a cycling event (with the exception, of course, of the Cinderella). And they, too, were friendly. I was wearing a jersey from one of our club events, and some women admired it as they passed. One recognized the club and raised a fist in triumph, shouting “Sierra to the Sea!” She'd had the chance to do that ride.

Another first was the woman riding up the first climb on a mountain bike ... with three sled-dogs-in-training yoked together.

Raindrops started falling just as we finished lunch. We kept going. Sprinkles are fine; a downpour and slick roads, not so much. When I'd heard a thunderclap on the morning climb, I wondered just how we would find shelter in a lightning storm (surrounded, as we were, by really tall trees). A cyclist who was cutting his ride short offered me his jacket, asking only that I return it later to his hotel. But it was a warm day, and here's the thing: Once you're wet, you're wet. The raindrops actually felt good.

Early on the slopes of Mt. Shasta, something caught my eye just off to the side of the road. How silly, I thought; why would someone put a statue of a deer out there in the forest? [Duh.] It was a live doe, standing so still and with a coat so perfect she didn't look real. She was watching me. “Hi there,” I said. “Be careful if you're going to cross the road.” As soon as I passed, that's exactly what she did. Luckily the woman driving an oncoming car saw her, and slowed.

I was a bit apprehensive whenever I passed someone walking along the road. What are they doing, basically in the middle of nowhere? Are they going to harass me? The guy in the green t-shirt, carrying a paper grocery bag, cheered me on. “Great job!” he called out. The scruffy mountain man, with his long hair and longer beard, greeted me with a friendly hello.

The climb itself, 15 miles at a gentle 5.6% grade, didn't even require my granny gear. Nonetheless, being unfamiliar, it seemed everlasting. “You did the Death Ride,” I reminded myself: twice the climbing. Keep turning the pedals. I noticed the thinner air around 7,000 feet. “You climbed above 10,000 feet last year,” I told myself. No excuses.

By the time I made it to the top, I was more than ready to be done. And looking forward to the descent, with its smooth pavement and wide sweeping turns. Three of us took off at the same time, and I was finding it a challenge to keep a respectable distance. When I reached a comfortable place to pass them, I did. Later, when they arrived at the finish, the woman saw me. “You're a great descender!” she said. Thanks, I smiled. “I followed her all the way down!” she announced.

Two fast guys had flown past me; I know better than to give chase. A woman passed me, too, and gained some distance but stayed within sight. I could play with that. Just by tweaking my aerodynamics, and with greater comfort in the curves, I started gaining on her. She was surprised when I passed her. “It's a great descent!” she shared, when she pulled even with me again.

For the day, 79 miles, 7480 feet of climbing. My legs hurt. Just right.

August 1, 2015

McCloud Falls

Mt. Shasta is a curious town. As we waited in line for a sandwich at the local natural foods market, it was hard to watch the inefficiencies behind the deli counter (and not intervene). I will say that the food was worth the wait.

There were lots of shops selling crystals. Our hiking buddies from Heart Lake had shared an amusing encounter: They had been in one of the shops when a guy wandered in, claimed he was the 16th incarnation of Buddha (or some such), and demanded a particular crystal of significance that was on display. Or else he would blow up the shop. [Which, of course, is just what Buddha would do.]

McCloud River, McCloud, California
Our afternoon plans included a much less strenuous hike than this morning's. We headed for McCloud Falls, which is really a series of three waterfalls along a stretch of the McCloud River.

I envied the families playing in the water, scrambling over the boulders and jumping off the rock walls. [Well, not so much the cliff jumpers. I'm too chicken for that.] It was refreshing to see so much unbridled splashing and sliding, with no signs or officials in uniforms shooing people away “for their own safety.” I wished I'd brought a bathing suit.

Swimmers at the Lower Falls of the McCloud River, McCloud, California
Here, it was a little less hot than on our earlier hike. The distance to the upper falls was not clear; we needed to return to town to pick up our registration packets for tomorrow's ride, so we kept walking with an eye on the clock.

Man jumping off cliff at Middle Falls of the McCloud River, McCloud, California
As we were climbing the uppermost segment, two young women came running down the rocky trail. And one tripped. My ride buddy, walking just ahead of me, caught her. Most importantly, in that brief-but-terrifying moment, both of them stayed upright and neither one tumbled over the cliff.

Upper Falls of the McCloud River, McCloud, California
We made our u-turn at the upper falls with ample time to hike back down. Then we spotted a crowd heading for the narrow trail. Wearing ... costumes? Colorful broad-brimmed hats, South American style. Did they step off a bus in the parking lot, above? It was as though someone had conjured a line of zombies, as they marched along with blank expressions. My ride buddy and I looked at each other. “Let's go!” And let's stay ahead of them.

And so we lived to tell the tale. 4.1 miles, round-trip, with much less climbing than our morning adventure.

Heart Lake

My ride buddy proposed that we head north for a cycling event near Mt. Shasta. We didn't get to see much of the mountain last year, after all. As we did then, we made the most of our short time in the area by adding a couple of hikes.

We planned to skip one of the climbs on tomorrow's route, the better to accommodate our pace. The question was, which one?

After poring over maps and hiking recommendations, we opted to skip climb number two (Castle Lake). Today we would hike there, instead.

Castle Lake, near Mt. Shasta, California
Rather than a trail, at times it felt more like we were hiking in the dry wash from the slopes above—loose rocks always underfoot. We started at Castle Lake, heading for Little Castle Lake, above. It was a steep climb, and the trail was essentially unmarked.

Hiker on rocky trail through a meadow, with Mt. Shasta in the distance, on the way to Heart Lake, Mt. Shasta, California
We found Little Castle Lake, but not a way to get close to the shore. I made three attempts, more or less bushwhacking my way along what appeared to be footpaths, but each fell short.

Little Castle Lake, near Mt. Shasta, California
We also wanted to find Heart Lake, but ... how? We hadn't noticed other trails branching off; had we missed a marker along the way? On our way down, a small path led to some large rocks. If only we had known that was also the way to Heart Lake ...

I scrambled up the rocky outcropping and was rewarded with a sweeping view of Castle Lake, with the top of Mt. Shasta floating above the layer of smoke from this year's distant wildfires.

Mt. Shasta rises above the smoke layer, near Mt. Shasta, California
As we hiked down the hill, a small group passed us, heading up. They were oddly dressed—in street clothes, some carrying babies. A woman in a casual white lacy dress; a guy in a dress shirt, vest, and pants; a woman in a long skirt. Ah, well, that's California for you. I've seen people climbing a trail up the slick, sandy rocks next to a waterfall in leather-soled shoes.

Of course, there were wildflowers along the way.

Swamp knotweed (Persicaria amphibia) near Castle Lake, Mt. Shasta, California
And with a little patience, I got a clean shot of a butterfly (Aphrodite frittillary?) that was flitting alongside the trail.

We made it all the way back to our starting point, still mystified about where we missed the turn to Heart Lake. Our timing was lucky: we got some tips and joined a friendly couple who were also trying to find the lake. Then we turned around and trudged back up the steep slope. [Oh no ... say it isn't so.]

Wedding on the shore of Heart Lake, Mt. Shasta, California
When we reached Heart Lake, well, there were the hikers in their fancy clothes—a wedding party. [Aha!] They knew how to find Heart Lake. We witnessed their vows from across the lake, with Mt. Shasta in the distance, and cheered.

Heart Lake with Mt. Shasta in the distance, near Mt. Shasta, California
My ride buddy had suggested that we tackle this hike in the morning, and she was oh-so-right. It was a hot day, and a hard 4.5-mile hike. Both times up the hill.

July 25, 2015

The Wild Wild West

The locals are so welcoming on Bay Area backroads.

As we turned west onto Bear Gulch Road, there was one to greet us. With his faded brown sedan parked next to the cluster of mailboxes, he shouted:
You're not going through to the coast!
“No,” I replied; “we turn around at the bottom and ride back up.” (The public road is a dead end, with a well-marked gate demarcating private property.)

He continued:
If I find you on my ranch I'll fill you full of buckshot!
So noted.

View of fog-shrouded Pacific Ocean from Bear Gulch West Road, near Woodside, California
Here in the 21st century, we have plenty of detailed maps to guide us. It would be stupid not to consult them. And it would be even more stupid to trespass on private property.

I can only imagine that, to this paunchy redneck with his stringy hair grazing his shoulders, that the stupidest idea of all would be that two women on bicycles would coast effortlessly to the bottom of a really steep hill just to make a u-turn and pedal back up.

Nah, we're really cattle rustlers in disguise.

I half expected him to drive back down the hill and park at the end of the road. I picture him sitting on an old lawn chair somewhere on his property, his shotgun across his knees, still waiting for us to arrive. Disappointing, on so many levels.

White road marker with a yellow top, Old La Honda, alt. 1634 ft, near Woodside, California
I hadn't climbed Old La Honda Road in awhile. I wasn't trying for a personal best, but I will say that it took less effort to pedal the new bike up the hill. Reaching the summit on this penultimate day of Le Tour de France, it was fitting to discover that someone has created a traditional French-style road marker and planted it there.

Snacking at the top of Kings Mountain before starting our descent, we overheard a conversation between some nearby cyclists and a very lost motorist. When they told him to head down Kings, my ride buddy and I looked at each other. Go, now, before we get stuck behind this guy who has never seen Kings Mountain before.

I'd forgotten how long that descent is. There was only open road ahead of me, as I took care not to let the fast bike accelerate to warp speed. An SUV appeared behind me; I had a clear advantage on the curves, and there were no straights long enough for him to pass me safely. He'd just have to wait. Besides, I was doing the speed limit (or better).

For the day, 3,440 feet of climbing over about 26 miles. And no buckshot.

July 24, 2015

Change Up

One morning this week, the same cyclist passed me three times.

Wait ... how can that be?

Looking west along the channel where Stevens Creek meets San Francisco Bay, Mountain View, California
Of the two of us, he was the stronger cyclist. But I was the cyclist following an optimized route. He never said a word, but he must have wondered what was going on. I chuckled to myself.

The downside of my optimized route is that it can get dull—same old, same old.

I became familiar with “the regulars:” people whose routines overlap with mine. In the morning, the woman walking a pair of pit bulls (who make me nervous). The guy with the rambunctious puppy. The small elderly guy with long sideburns and a mustache who stood near the center of a bridge looking at ... what? Not necessarily the trains.

Evenings are less routine, though I would often see an elderly woman in a saffron-colored sari and her husband, out for a stroll. A large woman in a wheelchair near a convalescent center, parked on the sidewalk, reading a book. Sometimes a colleague might come along and chat before dashing away.

I've been wondering whether I should change the route to ease the boredom. But every time I study the map, I stick with my route. It's pretty safe, and quiet, and direct. Now and then, something unexpected spices it up.

This week a friend got up early, rode to my house, then returned with me along my commute route—just for fun. Two weeks ago my older road bike made for a fast trip; the Bike Doctor would be on campus, and it needed a little TLC. [New brake cables, as it turned out. So that's why it wasn't stopping very well ...]

One evening I passed a helmet-less guy in a long-sleeved white jersey, stopping irregularly to pick up trash. This week, a guy wearing an orange safety vest, a human face mask strapped to the back of his helmet. A woman struggling with a jammed chain, hands covered in grease. [I stopped to help.]

Late afternoon took me to the central part of the campus for an unexpected meeting. I had biked to work specifically to avoid the traffic meltdown that ensues when there's a major event at the nearby concert venue, but now I would land in the thick of it. I really didn't want to be on the road until I was well clear of the concert traffic.

The map confirmed my hunch: I could roll straight onto a different creek trail, follow it east to pick up the Bay Trail, loop around and catch the trail I needed to head home.

Variety is the spice of life.